E-Book, Englisch, 240 Seiten
Keesee Dispatches from the Front
1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4335-4072-1
Verlag: Crossway
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Stories of Gospel Advance in the World's Difficult Places
E-Book, Englisch, 240 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-4335-4072-1
Verlag: Crossway
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Tim Keesee is the founder and executive director of Frontline Missions International, which has served to advance the gospel in some of the world's most difficult places for over twenty-five years. He has traveled to more than eighty countries, reporting on the church from the former Iron Curtain countries to war-torn Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Keesee is the executive producer of the DVD documentary series Dispatches from the Front. Learn more at frontlinemissions.info.
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It’s easy to romanticize the experiences of the underground church in the Soviet Union: cool, courageous stories of smuggling Bibles; cat-and-mouse games with the KGB; and images of Soviet Christians worshipping in the forest, their pews fallen logs and their chapel walls silver birch with a cathedral ceiling that reached the sky. But it was no picnic, no James Bond movie. The Soviet Christians were brutally persecuted, and their pastors’ preparation for ministry usually took place in a prison rather than a seminary.
But the underground church was not underground. Believers spoke of Christ and won many to him, even in prison. This was Galina’s story. Galina Vilchinskaya was a twenty-three-year-old Sunday school teacher who spent five years in prison for her gospel work; but prison, hunger, and beatings could not silence her. She led many in her prison to the Lord, so she was transferred to another prison—and after that, yet another. For her, these transfers were just new gospel opportunities. Finally, Galina was transported by prison train to the utter east of Siberia, along with scores of other prisoners—the worst of the worst. As the condemned in their cages rumbled on through the Siberian vastness, the din of cursing and fighting was broken by a clear, sweet voice of singing. It was Galina singing of her Savior. A hush fell over the train car. Even the most hardened criminals turned their faces away to hide their tears—and mile after mile, hymn after hymn, Galina sang the gospel.1
It’s really absurd, though, that the full force of the Soviet Union was bent on crushing a Sunday school teacher for the crime of “being a Sunday School teacher.” Such senseless hatred, when it erupts to the surface, is like opening a furnace door to hell. But the gates of hell were no match for Galina’s God. One striking proof of that is that today Galina is a pastor’s wife in Siberia, where once she was a prisoner of an empire that no longer exists.
The collapse of the Soviet state brought unprecedented freedom and gospel opportunity to believers living across the eleven time zones of that massive empire. Fifteen new countries rose up from the rubble—and new tyrants rose up, too. Persecution has returned—but now, it’s not only from tyrannical governments but also from resurgent Islam, over a vast swath of central Asia, from the Caspian Sea to Kazakhstan.
The rise and crash of nations provides a perfect backdrop for our Christ’s unending kingdom and his saving grace—news so good that even a starving prisoner couldn’t help but sing of it! Christians in these unshackled lands are still singing of Jesus, still speaking of him.
RIGA, LATVIA
This afternoon Sergei and Ilona, friends of mine from Warsaw, drove me to the outskirts of Riga. There along the shores of the Daugava, the old Soviet naval base and airfields sit in quiet decay. Once the proud vanguard of a great empire, the sprawling military complex is succumbing to the ravages of rust and crabgrass. Yet many retired veterans still live in the crumbling apartments near the base, and that is what took me there today—to look up an old friend. I’ve been here before—a dozen years ago. Then it was a blustery night with a light dusting of snow. A friend of mine arranged for me to stay with a Christian, and so I was brought here. Nothing looked familiar today, though, until the door of apartment 38 opened up, and there was Alexei Beloborodov. He was a bit grayer, but still ramrod straight with a soldier’s bearing, and he was as kind as ever. Twelve years ago he took a stranger in on a cold night. I remember he made me a meal of black bread and fried eggs with steaming black tea. It was right after the USSR collapsed, and the ruble was worthless. I learned later that my host was so poor that he only ate one meal a day at that time, but his little one-room apartment was a place of joy and hospitality.
How good it was to see Brother Alexei again today! He invited us to tea. There have been so many questions I have wanted to ask him about his life, and today was my chance. Alexei went to war at age sixteen—that was in 1943. As a young tank commander, he quickly proved himself in battle, as evidenced by the box of medals he brought out of his closet and by his scars. He fought all the way to the smoldering ruins of Hitler’s Berlin. He returned home in victory, only to find he had no home. His village near Moscow had been destroyed in the war and his family all killed or scattered. So Alexei returned to the only life he knew—the Soviet military. He became a naval intelligence officer, got married, raised children, and spent nearly thirty years in the service.
As an officer, Alexei had access to shortwave radio, and he heard Christian broadcasts beamed into the Soviet Union. The gospel changed him forever! He repented of his sins and received Christ into his life. That was 1968. He had no Bible, no church, no pastor, no Christian friend—no one to fellowship with, except the Lord. Alexei told me that he would often take long walks deep into the woods, where he would pray and weep and sing. His was a lonely walk. It was seven years before he met another Christian—after he left the military. He said when he first learned the man was a Christian, Alexei gave him a big bear hug before he could even get the words out to the surprised man!
Yet Alexei’s walk would get even lonelier. Shortly afterward, he was baptized, and this public testimony of his faith was a great dividing line in his life. His wife divorced him, and his children would have nothing to do with him. For several years he was homeless, living in a cold, dank basement without electricity or running water. He eventually found a job in a factory and a place to stay, but his penchant for passing out smuggled tracts and sharing his faith kept him in trouble with the KGB during the years of persecution.
For over twenty-five years now—during persecution and during freedom—Alexei has never missed church a single time. In fact, when he worked at the factory and was scheduled to work on Sunday, he would pay a coworker a full day’s wage to take his place!
We talked until dusk, and he took out a little box of mementos. Among them were yellowing photographs of a handsome, young officer in his crisp uniform, decorated with many medals. He took one of them out of the box. Stamped in red on dull silver were the Russian words—“for bravery in battle.” He gave it to me, but I said, “I cannot take this—it is a treasure won at great cost.” He smiled and said, “I am going home soon and will have no need of it there.”
My friend has known so much loneliness in his life, and yet the Lord has filled the emptiness with himself. We walked outside, prayed together, and parted ways. As I set out for Riga, the last, long light of day brightened the birches as old Brother Beloborodov turned and walked back alone.
ON THE RAIL, MOSCOW TO KAZAN, RUSSIA
The Kazan Express jostled out of the dusty Moscow rail station and lurched eastward, slipping through a sprawling, industrial section of the city cast in hues of concrete gray and rusty red. Outside of Moscow, though, even with approaching twilight, there was vibrant color—a spring countryside waking from the long Russian winter—dappled forests of birch, fresh green fields, and little cherry orchards wreathed with white blossoms. Despite the unseasonable heat, Pavlo, my friend and interpreter from Kiev, fills the teapot a second time. I enjoy another strong, steaming cup as we settle in for the evening and our five-hundred-mile trek to the east.
KAZAN, RUSSIA
After a long night on the train, I awoke to see the morning sun shimmering on the vast Volga River. Thin light fingered through birches and maples dressed in the crayon colors of spring. Mist hung over the vast swath of the great river, leaving the minarets of the White Kremlin in silhouette on the sunrise side of the city.
I think my heart skipped a beat at first sighting this storied shore. The legendary city of the Golden Horde was Ivan the Terrible’s prized conquest, the gateway to Siberia and an even greater empire. But I had little time to relive the past, for as soon as we stepped off the train, we were stuffed into a little Lada and went careening through the streets of Kazan with Pastor Mikhail Trofimov. He drives like Jehu, but it was well that he did, for we barely made it in time for the Sunday service, where I joined the slate of preachers. Typically, there are two or three sermons in a service, punctuated with hymns, prayer, and poetry. The morning service concluded around noon with the afternoon service following at 1:30. This proximity is necessary, since few people have vehicles; the distances to walk and the cost of train tickets make it best to have the two services before and after lunch.
Between services I got better acquainted with Pastor Mikhail over a flavorful lunch of pickle soup, smoked sardines, and buttermilk. Pastor is an intense and energetic man whom God is greatly using here in the Kazan region. Because of his commitment to a trained ministry, he has organized a two-week Bible school. I’m teaching Pastoral Epistles starting in the morning.
KAZAN, RUSSIA
We have a good group of students at our Bible school, which is meeting in a borrowed classroom of a public school. Despite the fact that they have seven hours of instruction each day, they are attentive and...
